Che Grimsdale writes: Now that Simon Cowell's stolen Everybody Hurts, tell us about songs that mean something to you - good, bad, funny or tragic, appropriate or totally inappropriate songs that were playing at key times.

I don't even like the song
It’s almost two years since our little boy was born and a happier, healthier little bundle of joy you couldn’t hope for. The pregnancy had gone reasonably well and we were two weeks short of the due date when Mrs Mork noticed some bleeding at about 1am. We called the maternity ward who told us it was probably nothing but, as we were clearly worried, suggested we come in for a check up. So, laughing and joking, we piled into our little 2 seater (another story…) and packed up all the paraphernalia we had been told we would need in the event of the birth: we were treating it as a “test run”.

So, we arrive at the hospital at about 2am and Mrs Mork gets strapped up to a monitor and through the sleepy haze we watch readout of our baby’s heart rate. All seems under control. The midwives, and doctors, however, are not happy; the heart rate suggests the baby is asleep but does not seem to be waking up, so they ask Mrs M to roll on to her side to wake him up. The effect on the heart rate was astounding, it dropped to about half. Cue, much muted conversation amongst the medics. After a little while the consultant comes in and says “We’re going to do a caesarean. Now.”

“Er, no, we’d rather not if possible.” (Mrs M has severe claustrophobia and the thought of being conscious but immobile on an operating table was seriously worrying)

“No, you don’t understand: we’re doing a caesarean because your baby is in distress.”At this point things went a bit mad and my recollection is unclear. I remember Mrs M signing a consent form and I remember being taken aside to get “scrubbed up” while my wife was being prepped. I also remember being dragged into the theatre to try to calm my wife down (she was screaming) so that the anaesthetist could get the epidural in.In the end we were all ready and I spen t the next however long (no idea) talking to Mrs M about holidays, sitting on the beach anything in fact to take her mind off what was happening to her. But eventually we saw the nurses carrying our baby around, weighing him, checking him and finally handing him to us. I will never forget those dark eyes and that rather perplexed looking face as he was handed to us. It was then that I noticed the radio was on, Snow Patrol, Chasing Cars:“All that I am, All that I ever was, Is here in your perfect eyesThey're all I can see”I still can’t even think of that song without a knot in my stomach, a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye. At that time we didn’t know that the hours and weeks ahead would involve a dash across London in an ambulance for a possible heart operation, intensive care and special care units and more pain, worry and tears than I had had in my life up to that point. For that brief moment we had peace.